The Case of the Leidenbach Instrument
by dust on the wind
Summary: Just because it's a violin case doesn't mean the only thing in it is a violin...
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

* * *

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Sergeant Schultz, strolling into the barracks.

"What's good about it?" Newkirk, still in his upper bunk, directed a killing glare at the intruder.

"Well, let me see," replied Schultz. "The sun is shining, the hyacinths in the woods are almost in bloom, the cook is making potato dumplings for lunch, and Kommandant Klink will be going away for two days' leave, starting straight after roll call."

"Old Blood and Guts is going away?" Colonel Hogan had come out of his quarters just in time to hear this. "He didn't tell me."

"He doesn't tell you everything, Colonel Hogan," said Schultz.

"You know where he's going?"

"Leidenbach, so he says. Where that is, I have no idea, but he's in a very good mood about it. As a matter of fact," Schultz went on confidentially, "he is in a better mood than he has been since...well, you know."

"Yes, I do know," sighed Hogan. "Well, I guess he was bound to get over his bereavement some time. It's been almost three weeks."

"Three very good weeks for us," mumbled LeBeau under his breath. "Coffee, Schultz?" he added brightly.

"There is no time for coffee," rumbled Schultz. "Roll call is in five minutes. Everybody, out of bed, and get ready, _schnell_."

He bustled off to rouse the next barracks.

"Does anyone happen to know where Leidenbach is?" asked Hogan.

"Never heard of it," mumbled Newkirk. He dropped out of his bunk with a thud, eliciting a mild protest from Carter who was sitting just underneath, putting his boots on. "But if it's going to put old Klink in a better temper, I'm all for it."

"Maybe he has a girlfriend there," suggested LeBeau, with a snigger.

Newkirk scoffed the idea down at once. "She'd have to be a right stunner. He's already in one of the great romances of all time, with himself. What woman could compete with that? Matter of fact, I don't see him giving his heart to anyone, or anything, except that old violin of his. And we all know how that ended."

There was a brief silence, during which almost every eye in the barracks turned in one direction. Carter squirmed a little under the mass scrutiny. "Well, it wasn't my fault. If he was all that fond of it, why'd he have to go and dump in on a chair for a guy to sit on?"

"Nobody's blaming you, Carter," said Hogan; though as a matter of fact he sometimes wondered, given Carter's ear for music, whether the destruction of Klink's violin had really been completely unintentional. "If anything, we're grateful. All that nightly practice was getting on everyone's nerves. You probably averted a mass escape by bringing an end to it. How are the bruises, by the way?"

"Still there." Carter grimaced, and adjusted his position slightly.

"Oh, well, it was all in a good cause, Andrew." Newkirk's voice was briefly muffled as he pulled his jumper over his head. "Poor old Beethoven must have got very tired of spinning in his grave, night after night. A few splinters in the backside was a small price to pay for a bit of peace and quiet, if you ask me."

"That's easy for you to say," grumbled Carter.

A few minutes later, at roll call, it became clear to Hogan and his men that Schultz's assessment of the Kommandant's disposition was something of an understatement. There was an unfamiliar spring in Klink's step, and an alarmingly cheerful set to his features, as he came out of his office to review the prisoners on formation. "Yes, thank you, Schultz," he said, waving away the sergeant's report. "You can dismiss the men. Colonel Hogan, a word with you, if you please."

"You're looking pretty chipper this morning, sir," remarked Hogan.

"Am I?" Klink drew himself up, with a jaunty waggle of his head. "Well, as it happens, Hogan, I have good reason."

"So I hear. Leidenbach, hey? Well, if you're going to take a couple of days R&R, I can't think of a better place for it," said Hogan, with a knowing grin.

"You've been talking to Schultz," replied the Kommandant, waving his forefinger with mock severity. "Yes, I will be leaving shortly, and I expect to be back tomorrow evening. And I warn you, Hogan, if you think my absence will give you and your men an opportunity to escape, you're very much mistaken. Captain Gruber will be in charge, and you know what that means."

"Yeah. Extra roll calls, increased patrols, and the guards in the towers will have to stay awake all night." Hogan gave a nonchalant shrug. "Well, I guess we can stand it. I must say, though, Kommandant, it seems a long way to go, just for one night. Doesn't leave you much time to do anything once you're there."

"Oh, I'll have plenty of time," said Klink cheerfully. "Dismissed, Hogan." He turned and strutted off toward his private quarters, while Hogan rejoined his team at the door of Barracks 2.

"Boy, is he ever happy," observed Kinch.

"Yeah. I don't like it," replied Hogan. "He's only ever that pleased with himself when he's up to something. I think we should make it our business to find out what's at Leidenbach for him to get up to."

With his men at his heels, he went into the barracks. "Watch the door," he said to LeBeau.

Kinch had already pulled down the map of Germany which was concealed in the frame of one of the bunks. For a minute or so, he and Hogan pored over it. "Well, I can't find it," said Hogan at last.

"If it's not on the map, it can't be a very big place," observed Newkirk. "Perhaps it's just some little village somewhere."

"I don't think so. Villages aren't Klink's style." Hogan straightened up, frowning. "Carter, get the Baedekers from the shelf in my office. Kinch, I don't suppose the radio is working yet, is it?"

Kinch shook his head. "It's receiving, but I can't send anything. So if you were thinking of asking London, you'd better think again."

"I still can't see how it matters, Colonel. I mean, who cares where Klink spends his holidays?" said Newkirk, leaning back to allow Carter room to get past and dump the two old and worn travel guides on the table.

"It matters because it's not like him to go to some out of the way place," replied Hogan. "Think about where he's taken his furloughs before. Paris, Baden Baden - okay, he never actually got there; then there was that mountain resort, whatever it was called. All of them pretty classy. So why is he suddenly taking a trip to some little town so obscure that it's not even on the map?"

"Found it." Carter had been leafing through one of the Baedeker volumes. "Leidenbach. Right here on page 312. It says it's about forty kilometres east of Diebniz."

"Yeah, and what else?" said Hogan.

"That's all."

"Okay, so what does it say about Diebniz?"

Carter flipped over a few pages. "About forty kilometres west of Leidenbach."

Hogan leaned across to look for himself. "A fat lot of good that is," he grumbled.

"Klink is just leaving now, _mon Colonel_," put in LeBeau from the door. Hogan and the others joined him there, and they watched the staff car pull out of the gate and disappear down the road.

"Well, I guess we'll have to wait till he gets back before we find out where he's been," said Kinch.

There matters stood for the rest of the day, and into the following afternoon, which found most of the prisoners out of doors. Kinch had gone below ground to work on the radio, but his mates set themselves up outside the barracks, the better to enjoy a few minutes of leisure by taking them in the soft spring sunshine.

Carter had brought one of the travel guides with him; he'd spent most of the last twenty-four hours delving into the contents and paraphrasing for the edification of his fellow prisoners.

"Say, did you fellers know that the natural history museum in Felsbrunnen's got three fossil mammoths, and a blue whale skeleton, as well as the biggest collection of stag beetles in Europe?" he said. "Next time we have to blow something up out that way, Colonel, any chance we could go and have a look?"

"It'll be difficult, Carter," replied Hogan. "That guide book's a little out of date. The natural history museum in Felsbrunnen isn't there any more. It was right next door to the chemical works the RAF bombed last month."

"Well, gee, you'd think those guys'd learn to be a bit more careful," grumbled Carter. "How about the menagerie at Schlossheim? Says here they got a couple of Galápagos tortoises, and a goat with two heads."

Newkirk glanced at the page, apparently trying to read it sideways. "I always wanted to see one of those tortoises. Where is it?"

"It's in the grounds of the castle," said Hogan, before Carter could answer. "Which is now a hospital for SS officers. So I wouldn't hold out much hope of the tortoises still being there, or the goat for that matter. Hi, Doyle, what's up?"

Lieutenant Doyle had come around the corner of the barracks, carrying with him as usual an air of being concerned with far more important matters than a mere worldwide conflict. A born musician, he was in some ways an ill fit into this or any other prison camp; but behind his condescending manner resided an essentially decent man. The other prisoners liked him, and more importantly, they respected him.

"I'm afraid I have bad news, Colonel," he said. "The Gilbert and Sullivan concert will have to be postponed. Most unfortunately, the orchestra's had a slight accident, and broken his accordion."

"Your orchestra consisted of one accordion player?" Hogan raised his eyebrows.

"My dear man, why would we need two of them?" responded Doyle patiently. "Actually, it's probably a blessing in disguise. I had a feeling some of the performers had rewritten the words, and I wasn't at all sure which version of _I've Got A Little List_ we were going to hear on the night. I suspect it would have included a recommendation for the Kommandant to insert his monocle somewhere it was not designed to go."

"Well, it doesn't matter, does it?" drawled Newkirk. "Just so long as Klink doesn't work out what _up the Khyber Pass_ means."

"Yes, I thought you'd had a hand in it." Doyle gave him a cool, critical look, which Newkirk, not even slightly abashed, countered with a smirk. The lieutenant's gaze moved on towards Carter, and fixed on the Baedeker in his hands. "Planning a little sightseeing?"

"Yeah, if there were any sights still around to see," replied Carter, slapping the book closed.

"We were just doing some research," said Hogan. "I don't suppose you've heard of Leidenbach, by any chance? Klink's gone there on a two-day pass, and I want to know why."

Doyle pursed his lips. "It sounds vaguely familiar. But then, they all do. That's the trouble with German place names. Variations on a theme. No, I'm sorry, Colonel, I can't place it. But if it comes to me, I'll let you know."

"I've got a bad feeling about this," murmured Hogan, as the lieutenant sauntered off towards his own barracks.

"You may have good reason for it," said Kinch, who had emerged from the barracks with a slip of paper in his hand, just in time to hear this. "I got a message on the radio. Urgent, from London."

Hogan took the note and perused it, then looked up at Kinch. That's all they told you?"

"That's it. I still can't send, so I couldn't acknowledge it, or ask for more information. But it seems pretty clear."

"What's the go, Colonel?" asked Newkirk.

"Just this," said Hogan. "_Top priority delivery arriving Papa Bear's house tonight. Retrieve package from courier and await further instructions. Courier is Bald Eagle_."

An astonished silence held his audience for three seconds. LeBeau was the first to recover. "They're using Klink as a courier?"

"Without his knowledge," said Hogan. "Chances are, whatever this package is, it's been hidden somewhere in his car, or in his luggage, while he was in Leidenbach. Which means we have to find it before he does, and we don't have a clue what it is, or where to look for it."

"Well, we'd better start guessing," remarked Kinch, his eyes on the road outside the fence, where a familiar black staff car had just come into view.

Hogan straightened up. "Okay, you know the drill. Start with the car. I want it cleaned thoroughly, inside and out. And underneath, as well."

"And what if it's not in the car?" said Newkirk

"That's when it gets tricky." Hogan watched as the car rolled through the gate, coming to a stop in front of the Kommmandantur. "Klink's not going to let any of us unpack for him, he'll get Schultz to do that. So this is how we'll do it..."

"Kreuz!"

The interruption came from Doyle. He had reappeared from around the end of the barracks, in an unusual state of agitation.

"Well, there's no need for that kind of language," said Carter reprovingly. Then, remembering he was speaking to an officer, he added, "Sir."

But Doyle ignored the interjection. "Leidenbach, Colonel. I knew it sounded familiar. Joachim and Matthias Kreuz, of course. Their workshop is in Leidenbach, or was before the war." He paused, waiting for the light of understanding to appear in the faces around him. "The Kreuz brothers, the finest luthiers in Germany. Surely you've heard of them."

"I wouldn't bet on it," said Newkirk. "What was it you called them - luthiers? Sounds a bit dodgy. What do they get up to, then?"

"I think I can answer that," said Hogan, whose eyes were still on the staff car. A couple of the guards had unloaded the Kommandant's luggage from the trunk, but as Schultz went to remove something from the back seat, Klink waved him away, and with tender solicitude retrieved it himself; a long, narrow case made of some light wood so beautifully finished that it seemed almost alive in the sunlight, and carefully shaped to the curved form of the precious item it contained.

A faint, almost inaudible sigh rippled through the little group of prisoners.

"Well, now we know why Klink was so happy about going to Leidenbach," murmured Kinch.

"Say, Colonel, about that no escape rule..." Carter began.

Hogan didn't let him finish. "Yes, Carter, you still have to stay. And now we have a real problem. We know Klink brought something else back from Leidenbach, something that he doesn't know about. We'll still have to check the car, and his luggage, but I've got a pretty good idea of where the Underground stashed it."

His men stared at him in bewildered consternation. "Colonel, you don't think...?" said Newkirk at last.

"I do." Hogan watched as Klink proudly bore his new treasure up the steps and into the building. "I'll bet anything you like, there's more in that violin case than just a violin."


	2. Chapter 2

Before retiring to his private quarters, Klink went to his office to speak to his adjutant; so he had scarcely entered his little sitting room when Hogan sauntered in with the breezy confidence of an old buddy, and a cheerful greeting on his lips: "Welcome back, sir. How was your trip?"

Klink had just removed his topcoat, with Schultz's assistance. "Ah, Hogan, come in, come in," he said, somewhat redundantly given that Hogan had already done so. "Schultz, you can start unpacking," he added, taking off his cap with a flourish, and handing it to the sergeant.

"Gee, Kommandant, I haven't seen you this happy for ages. You must have really had a great time in Leidenbach," said Hogan. "Plenty of wine, women and song, huh?"

"Never mind the wine and the women, Hogan, I can have those any time," replied Klink. "As for the song..." He didn't finish, but his eyes turned towards the violin case, which lay in the centre of the dining table, its beautifully polished surface appearing almost translucent.

Hogan had to make an effort to restrain himself from reaching out and stroking it. "Say, is that a new violin case?" he asked, in a tone of wondering admiration. "Hey, that's nice! What are you going to keep in it?"

The Kommandant's smile turned brittle. "What does one usually keep in a violin case, Hogan?"

"Cookies?" suggested Hogan, after a few moments of deep cogitation. Schultz, returning from the coat-rack, gave a low chuckle.

"Very funny." Klink opened the case, and carefully lifted the violin from its bed of soft green silk. To Hogan's eyes it didn't look that special; expertly assembled, but of a pale, dull wood which, against the amber glow of the case, looked like it had been left to bleach in the sun.

"Oh, you got yourself a new violin," he remarked.

"Yes, and you can be very sure, I will make every effort to keep it well away from Sergeant Carter," replied Klink. He ran his fingers across the strings, producing a soft, sweet resonance, then returned the instrument to its case. "Now, if you don't mind, Hogan, I've got a lot to do this evening - unpacking, checking the mail..."

"Yeah, I know. But could you spare just a couple of minutes? There's a very important matter I have to discuss with you."

"Oh, please, Hogan, can't it wait till tomorrow?"

"No, it's kind of urgent. It's about Captain Gruber. You know how I hate to be a tattletale, but while you were away..." Hogan paused, with a sideways glance at Schultz, who had stopped unpacking to listen. "Well, it's probably best talked about in private. In your office. Right now."

Klink gave an impatient sigh. "Very well, Hogan. Just let me put this in a safe place." He carried the violin case over to the cabinet standing against the wall, and locked it inside. "Schultz, I want all of this tidied away by the time I get back."

"_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_." Schultz gave a start, and began rootling industriously amongst the contents of the Kommandant's suitcase.

"After you, Hogan," said Klink, gesturing towards the passage which gave access to the office.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Schultz dropped everything, and went straight for the _Schnaps_. He uttered a low rumble of disapproval as he picked up one of the fiddly little glasses Klink kept beside the bottle. They scarcely held enough to taste. He started rummaging in the sideboard for a more generous vessel, but was brought up short by a resounding "_Achtung_!"

"Please, Newkirk, don't do that!" he protested. "You almost scared me half to death. What are you doing here? You know you are not supposed to come into the Kommandant's quarters without permission."

"Well, that's nice, isn't it?" Newkirk stuck his hands in his pockets. "Here's me coming to help you unpack for Lord Muck, seeing as the rest of the lads are busy cleaning his car, and all you can do is criticise. It's lucky for you I'm not the sort of bloke who gets on his high horse."

Schultz peered at him, instantly suspicious. "Why would you want to help? What are you up to?"

"Well, the truth is, Schultz, we're having a little blackjack game in the barracks before lights out," said Newkirk. "Now, you know we hate to start without you, but the rate you're going here, the war's going to be over before you've even got his underwear sorted out. So I thought I'd just pop in and hurry things along. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"No, I suppose not," replied Schultz.

"Of course not. So that's all right, then." Newkirk turned his attention to the open suitcase. "Let's be methodical about this. I'll unpack, and you put everything away."

"Why can't we do it the other way around?"

Newkirk uttered a soft, wicked chuckle. "How would old Klink react if he came back and found me messing about in his bedroom? It'd be the cooler for me, and somewhere a sight colder than that for you, old chum."

"You're right," admitted Schultz. "Better to do it your way."

"That's the spirit. Here, start with these." Newkirk picked up a couple of badly crumpled shirts. "Blimey, you'd think he slept in them. It's obvious he doesn't do his own laundering. Two days he's been away, and he's got a week's worth of dirty socks in here."

Schultz clicked his tongue in disapproval as he carried the shirts off to the laundry hamper. "My father always used to say, you can never trust a man who changes his socks every day."

"Well, at least we know where we stand with you, Schultzie," Newkirk called after him.

His nimble fingers were at work, rapidly exploring the contents of the case, then feeling around the interior of the suitcase, searching for any irregularities which might indicate the presence of an envelope slipped in between the outer shell and the lining; but there was nothing. A neat little leather case caught his attention; inside was Klink's shaving kit, hairbrush and a fancy bottle labelled _Haarwasser_.

"Have you seen this, Schultz?" said Newkirk, as the guard came back into the room. He opened the bottle and took a sniff. "Phew! What's he want with a bottle of paint stripper?"

"That is hair tonic. It's supposed to make his hair grow," replied Schultz, completely deadpan.

Newkirk snickered. "Good luck to him. Not much point in having a full head of hair if the women can't get near you for the smell."

The vanity kit held no secrets; he handed it to Schultz, and delved in the suitcase again. Then he quickly stepped back from it, as the Kommandant's voice became audible: "...to be honest, Hogan, I had no idea Gruber had even one lady friend, let alone...Newkirk, what are you doing here?"

Newkirk came to attention. "Just came to let you know, sir, we finished cleaning your car. Inside and out, just like Colonel Hogan told us to."

"I told the men to make a good job of it, sir. You know how we hate to see you driving round in a dirty car," explained Hogan. "After all, a clean war is a happy war."

Klink's monocle glittered. "Hogan, sometimes you go too far. You - " He jabbed a finger at Newkirk. "Take yourself off. Schultz, why haven't you finished yet? Get on with it. As for you, Hogan, I've no doubt you find Captain Gruber's activities a constant source of fascination, but it's no concern of yours what he does in his spare time, or with whom. Dismissed."

"All right, but you'll be sorry you didn't listen to me in a couple of months, when all his girlfriends' husbands come home on furlough and turn up here demanding explanations," retorted Hogan, as he made his exit.

He caught up with Newkirk at the door of Barracks 2. "Anything?"

"Not a sausage," replied Newkirk. "Maybe the others had better luck."

But the car cleaning crew had not found anything either. "And we went over every inch of it, even underneath," complained LeBeau.

"So whatever it is Klink brought back from Leidenbach, it's not in the car, and it's not in his suitcase." Hogan went to the door of the barracks, and leaned against the frame, gazing at the Kommandantur. "That only leaves the violin case."

"Getting to that isn't going to be easy," observed Kinch.

For a moment, Hogan didn't answer; but the tension in his forehead gradually relaxed, and the corners of his mouth began to lift. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "I think I've got an idea that might just get him to hand his violin case over to us."

His men stared at him. Carter was the first to speak: "How are we going to do that, Colonel?"

"Easy," replied Hogan. The smile had grown into a full, confident grin. "We just convince him he doesn't want it. And I know just the man who can help with that."


	3. Chapter 3

"Request permission to speak, sir."

Lieutenant Doyle made his appeal just as he and Colonel Hogan reached the steps of the Kommandant's office. Hogan had come to Barracks 10 straight after morning roll call, given Doyle a basic outline of the mission, and then hurried him out of the barracks before he could object.

But Doyle had been at Stalag 13 for long enough to understand in full what Hogan expected of him, hence the hint of desperation in his voice.

Hogan stopped, his foot already on the first step. "You got a problem, Lieutenant?" he asked.

Doyle glanced at the guard on duty at the door, then withdrew towards the unpretentious wooden structure which stood over the water well, a few yards away. Hogan followed, and casually rested his hand against one of the corner posts, listening as the lieutenant presented his case.

"Colonel, I think you'll agree, I'm as willing as any man in this camp to do my part. While I must acknowledge that in general I may not have the appropriate skills, nevertheless I'm always prepared to give it my best. So if you ordered me to go out and derail a train, or destroy a bridge, or even blow up an aircraft factory, I would assume you had lost your mind, but I'd make every effort to bring it off. But there's a limit to what any man can cope with, and what you're asking of me today is...well, frankly, sir, it's just too much. I can't do it."

Hogan acknowledged the argument with a rueful grin. "Look, Doyle, I know it's a tough assignment. I'm not exactly looking forward to it, either, but we need that violin case."

"I understand, sir. But to be forced to listen to that - that monocled orang-utan scraping away at a Kreuz violin..." Doyle closed his eyes, as if already in pain. "Surely there must be another way."

"Well, I could have Newkirk steal it," said Hogan. "But then Klink would tear the place apart looking for it. This way, he won't give it a second thought. It's gonna be rough, but war's an ugly business." His voice grew more serious. "If I'm right, and there's something hidden in the violin case, chances are it was put there by the violin makers. Those guys have put their lives on the line to get it to us. If Klink finds it before we do, and calls in the Gestapo, that violin will be the last instrument the Kreuz brothers ever build."

Doyle considered this aspect for a few moments. "In that case, I can't refuse. But if he attempts any of the Bach partitas, I may not be able to control myself."

"Don't worry," replied Hogan. "He fancies himself as a Mozart specialist."

The lieutenant barely repressed a shudder. But he squared his shoulders, and with true British stoicism, he embarked on his duty.

The Kommandant's secretary was not at her desk, so Hogan, with complete disregard of camp protocol, barged right into the office. "Can I speak to you for a moment, sir...oh, sorry, I didn't know you were busy. Good morning, Fräulein Hilda."

"Ah, Hogan, you're just in time." Klink turned a beaming smile on his visitors. "I was just showing Fräulein Hilda my new violin. She's very keen to hear me play."

Hogan doubted it, from the look of entreaty in Hilda's eyes. For a moment he had second thoughts; she was an innocent bystander, and didn't deserve to suffer. But he steeled himself. He had a job to do.

"That's great, sir," he said, with a great show of enthusiasm. "Actually, it's about the violin that we're here. We're hoping you can help us out of a fix. As you might recall, you gave permission for some of the men to put on a concert."

"Gilbert and Sullivan. Yes, I remember," replied Klink.

Hilda interrupted, holding up one finger like a schoolgirl seeking permission. "Please, _Herr Kommandant_, can I go back to work now? I haven't typed the daily report yet, or opened the mail, or..."

"But you haven't heard my new violin yet," Klink protested.

"Maybe some other time," murmured Hilda. " I have a headache."

She made her escape before he could come up with an argument. For a few seconds, he stared after her, before Hogan recalled his attention: "Kommandant, about the concert?"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Klink. "You know, Hogan, I've always admired Sullivan's music, although personally I find Gilbert to be a little too flippant, too disrespectful of authority. But that's the English for you. What's the problem, Hogan?"

Hogan relaxed slightly, and stuck his thumbs in the pockets of his jacket. "Well, sir, owing to an unexpected technical hitch, we've had to postpone the concert. I don't know how I'm going to break it to the men. They have so little to alleviate the humdrum routine of prison life. Now they don't have the concert to look forward to, they're going to start thinking maybe Stalag 13 isn't such a fun place after all. And you know what that kind of thinking leads to."

Klink's features contracted, and his shoulders dropped. "Yes. I know. Escape plans."

"Exactly. So, in the interests of morale, and to prevent any of the men doing anything stupid, and maybe getting shot by your trigger-happy guards, the lieutenant here has come up with a really great idea. Doyle, why don't you tell Colonel Klink all about it?"

Doyle shot him a poisonous glare, then turned his most supercilious smile on the Kommandant. "Ah, yes, the really great idea," he enunciated in acid tones, pressing his fingertips together. "Kommandant, it's been my experience that my fellow prisoners are always most appreciative of my efforts to raise the level of musical endeavour, within the limits imposed by our situation."

"He means, we like music, even the serious stuff," Hogan put in.

"I know what he means, Hogan." Klink glared him into silence. "Go on, Doyle."

"Well, sir, if it isn't presumptuous, I wonder whether you would consider stepping into the breach, as it were, with a violin recital."

"Well, I ...that is, it's an interesting idea," said Klink. "But I'm not sure the prisoners have sufficient appreciation of classical music..."

"Are you kidding?" interrupted Hogan. "Golly, if you could just see how the men respond, when they hear you practising...well, let's just say you'd have no doubt about the effect your music can have on an audience. It cuts right to the heart."

"Deeper," added Doyle. "In fact, Kommandant, there have been moments when your playing has brought tears to my eyes."

Klink tried not to simper. It wasn't a pretty sight. "Flattery doesn't work on me, you know, Doyle. However, I value your honest opinion, and I'm quite touched."

"Then it's settled," said Hogan. "So all we need is..."

"No, wait, Hogan. I haven't agreed to anything yet," interrupted Klink. "There's a lot to be decided - I'd have to find an accompanist, and..."

"An accompanist? With Lieutenant Doyle and his ten magic fingers in camp?" Hogan put his hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. "Take it easy, Doyle, I'm sure he didn't mean to be insulting."

"Doyle?" Klink's monocle flickered from one prisoner to the other.

"You should hear him tickle the ivories in the rec hall. Gosh, sir, when he plays Mozart, it's standing room only in there. The men just can't get enough of Mozart. Now, there was a guy who knew how to knock out a catchy tune."

"Actually, Hogan," observed Klink, in a superior tone, "it's my opinion that Mozart was one of the greatest musical geniuses of all time."

Hogan looked vaguely perplexed. "Isn't that what I just said?" He paused, apparently struck by an inspiration. "Say, Kommandant, I bet if you put on an all-Mozart show, it'd be a complete smash."

"Do you really think so? Well, that's very gratifying, but I've had no practice for three weeks, so I may be a little rusty," admitted Klink, trying without much success to cloak his eagerness with humility.

"Oh, come on, sir. A talented musician like you doesn't get rusty that fast. Golly, I bet you could pick that thing up right now, and play just as well as you ever did. Why don't you give it a try? We'd love to hear it, wouldn't we, Doyle?"

Klink blushed; he really did. "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly. Besides, I have work to do, so..."

Hogan's voice modulated into its most persuasive key. "It'll only take a minute, sir, and it would be such a treat for us. What's more, Fräulein Hilda will be able to hear it from her desk. If she's out of sorts, a little music is just what she needs."

"Oh, very well." Klink picked up the bow, a beautifully made item in its own right, and tightened the hairs. Then, with a self-satisfied smirk, he lifted the violin to his shoulder, ensured it was positioned correctly, and placed the bow to the strings.

Hogan held his breath. Then he held it a little longer. He glanced at Doyle, but the lieutenant, who had braced himself for the onslaught, was staring at Klink in complete astonishment.

The music sounded good. Not perfect; the tempo was uneven, and at random intervals the dynamic wobbled between _pianissimo_ and_ forte_ without touching anywhere in between_. _But compared to Klink's usual form, it was pretty darned good. The instrument had a sweet, oddly wistful tone, which would have counted for nothing unless the violinist had been able to find his notes. Somehow, against all precedent, he was finding them.

_That's one heck of a violin_, thought Hogan.

"This is quite strange." Klink lowered the bow, and took the instrument from under his chin, studying it with a puzzled frown. "I've played this set of variations many times over the years, but I don't remember them ever sounding quite like this. Perhaps it's out of tune." He fiddled with the tuning pegs, then gently plucked the strings.

"Sounds fine to me," said Hogan. "It probably just seems funny to you because you're used to the old one. You know, the exact same thing happened to me when I was ten. I got a new baseball bat for Christmas, and for the first couple of weeks..."

"Hogan, it's a violin, not a stick for hitting balls with," Klink burst out.

Doyle, having regained his composure, took up the argument. "With respect, Kommandant, Colonel Hogan may have inadvertently put his finger on the problem. The first time I ever played the organ at St Martin-in-the-Fields, I was surprised at how different the tone was to the organ at Durham Cathedral. Of course, as you have such an acute musical sensitivity, it's particularly obvious to you."

"Musical sensitivity. Yes, that would account for it," said Klink, pursing his lips as he considered the matter.

"It's a beautiful instrument," Doyle went on. "The tone is particularly fine. I'm sure all of your friends will be impressed when they hear it."

"Yes, they will, won't they?" Klink brightened at the thought. "Well, it's been a pleasure, gentlemen, but I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on, so unless there's anything else..."

"What about the recital, sir?" asked Hogan quickly. "Will you do it?"

Klink laid the violin back in its case. "I'll let you know. Dismissed."

Doyle saluted, and turned towards the door, but Hogan lingered. "It's kind of a shame..." he mumbled under his breath.

"What's a shame?" asked Klink absently, as he went around his desk.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just...No, it's nothing." Hogan's eyes turned towards the violin case. "After all, you're a better judge of good taste than I am."

"What do you mean?" Klink, in the act of sitting down, froze. "You don't like my violin?"

"Oh, I love the violin, sir, it's beautiful. But the case is just a bit...well, a bit too flashy. Don't you think so?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," murmured Klink. He slowly stood upright, his forehead folding in as he studied the soft, fluid outline of the violin case. "But now that you mention it..."

"It is a little pretentious," observed Doyle. "Just the sort of thing one's fellow musicians might notice, and talk about in one's absence."

Hogan pursed his lips in thought. "You know, Kommandant, maybe you should switch that case for your old one. Nothing says _I'm a real classy guy_ like a crocodile skin violin case."

"As a matter of fact, I've always been particularly attached to my old case," said Klink. "Wait here one moment, Hogan."

He bustled off through the connecting door to his quarters. Half a minute later, he returned, and laid the old case on the desk. With a triumphant air, he flipped it open, picked up the violin and placed it carefully into the red velvet interior. "Oh, you're right, Hogan. That's much nicer. More elegant, don't you agree?"

"Absolutely, sir," replied Hogan. "Here, let me just move this one out of the way." He closed the new case and handed it to Doyle.

A brief silence ensued, as all three men contemplated the unassuming instrument in its new home. Finally, Hogan breathed in deeply. "Well, sir, we'd better let you get back to work. Thanks for the serenade."

He gave a quick, snappy salute, and hustled Doyle out of the office. Hilda, overflowing with curiosity, started up from her chair, but Hogan just winked at her, and kept going.

"That was an eye-opener," he said, once he and Doyle reached the yard.

"Quite," replied Doyle. "It puts me in mind of a cellist I knew in my Royal College days. He was quite convinced his own instrument had a unique resonance which helped with the intonation. The poor man couldn't play a note on any other cello. Perhaps the Kreuz violin is, figuratively speaking, cut from the same timber."

Hogan's eyes gleamed. "This assignment couldn't be going any better. We've got the violin case, and all we have to do now is find whatever the Underground stashed in there, and get the case back before Klink misses it. And as an added bonus, Klink's got a violin he can almost play. What could go wrong?"

Doyle's eyebrows went up. "Now there's an odd thing," he said. "My mother's uncle once asked that very question, just before he was attacked and eaten by wolves."

He surrendered the violin case, and strolled off, while Hogan went on into the barracks. "Got it," he announced. "LeBeau, watch the door."

"We heard the violin, Colonel," said Kinch. "I didn't know Doyle could play."

"It wasn't Doyle." Hogan placed the violin case on the table, and lifted the lid. "Believe it or not, that was our beloved Kommandant."

"Klink? Holy cow!"

"_Pas de blagues, mon Colonel._ Who was it?"

"You're taking the mickey, aren't you, sir?"

"No joke. It really was Klink," replied Hogan, as he examined the case. "I can't see anything obvious in here. Most likely the item we're looking for is inside the lining. Newkirk, you can do the honours. Keep it neat, it has to go back once we're done with it."

"Trust me, Colonel. There are surgeons in London who'd sell their own grandmothers to have hands like these." Newkirk produced a knife from somewhere about his person, and leaned over the open case. "I'll have this lot out in no time," he added cheerfully, sliding the blade between the shell and the lining.

Ten minutes later, the mood wasn't so cheerful. The husk of the violin case lay at one end of the table, the green-lined inner structure at the other. "And not a bloody thing to show for it," grumbled Newkirk.

"Maybe it was in the car, after all, and we just missed it," suggested Carter.

LeBeau, still at the door, turned his head to protest. "What were we supposed to do, take the whole car to pieces? It wasn't there, Carter."

"I'm starting to wonder if it was anywhere," said Kinch. "We've searched the car, Klink's luggage, and now the violin case. There's nowhere else it could be."

"Oh, yes, there is."

Every eye in the barracks turned towards Hogan, who stood with folded arms, his shoulder resting against the corner post of one of the bunks. Kinch's eyes widened. "Colonel, you don't think...?"

"I do. There's only one place we haven't looked." Hogan straightened up, and moved to the centre of the room. "And getting hold of the violin case was a piece of cake compared to the next challenge. There's no getting out of it. We're going to have to steal Klink's new violin."

* * *

_Notes: _

_In "The Big Record" (Season 6), Klink and his string ensemble are heard attempting to play the menuetto from Mozart's String Quartet No. 20 in D major ("Hoffmeister"), K.499. He never claims to be a Mozart specialist, but isn't he just the type?_

_I've got him playing the Six Variations on "Hélas, j'ai perdu mon amant", K.360. But feel free to subsitute any Mozart violin sonata of your choice._


	4. Chapter 4

"I don't get it, Colonel," said Carter. "Wouldn't it just be easier to sneak into Klink's quarters and grab the violin?"

"He's got a point, you know," remarked Newkirk, as he stood before the mirror on the barracks wall, inspecting the false moustache Kinch had just finished applying. "We could go in through the tunnel, whip out whatever's in the bleedin' fiddle and have it back in its place inside of five minutes, and Klink none the wiser."

Kinch shook his head, and laughed. "You make it sound like it's got hinges on it. It's not just a cracker box with some strings attached. If we want to see what's inside, we have to dismantle it. And trust me, if it's anything like the old double bass I learned on, taking it apart is a cinch compared to putting it back together. I found that out the hard way, when I was eleven."

"Kinch, I'm shocked," said Hogan. "I never had you pegged as the destructive type. LeBeau, can you make Carter look a bit older, and a little less like Andy Hardy defected and joined the Gestapo?"

"Not so much destructive, Colonel," replied Kinch. "Anything I'm learning to operate, I like to know how it works."

With his usual obstinacy, Newkirk pressed on with his objections. "All right, then. But all the same, it seems a lot of bother, bringing the Gestapo into it. Why can't we just nick the thing and be done with it?"

"Because the last time Klink's violin went missing, he almost tore the place apart trying to find it," said Hogan. "As for when it got broken, well, you all remember how he reacted to that."

"Yeah, boy, I was lucky he didn't have a gun, 'cause he would have thrown it at me," giggled Carter.

"We can't afford to have another violin-related incident linked to us," Hogan went on. "So we let the Gestapo handle it for us. And once we're done with it, the violin goes back."

"It won't sound the same, Colonel," Kinch pointed out. "There's no way we're going to be able to fix it."

"I know, Kinch. That's the other reason we have to do it this way," replied Hogan. "Anyone else messes with his violin, and he's going to raise hell. If it's the Gestapo, he won't even raise a whimper."

"Finished," said LeBeau, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Will he pass, _mon Colonel_?"

Hogan turned a look of appraisal on Carter and Newkirk, the former in civilian clothes, while the latter sported the black SS uniform which seemed to be _de rigueur_ with the local Gestapo office. "Nice work. I think I'd even have trouble recognising them, so Klink should be a pushover."

"That's easy for you to say, guv. You're not the one pushing him," retorted Newkirk.

"Klink never notices anything," said Carter, as he fiddled with the collar of his overcoat.

LeBeau came to help him with it, adding his own opinion: "Maybe he's wearing his monocle in the wrong eye."

"Well, whatever it is, it makes our job easier," said Hogan. "LeBeau, stop messing around with that, it's fine as it is. Gestapo men aren't usually snappy dressers. Go and get into uniform, then pick up the staff car and be ready in front of Klink's office in fifteen minutes."

LeBeau bustled off, while Hogan turned to Carter and Newkirk. "Okay, you know what to do. Newkirk, you stay in the background, and let Carter do most of the talking. Once you've got the violin, you leave camp in the staff car. The changing of the guard happens while you're in the office, so the Krauts who let you out won't realise that the previous shift didn't actually let you in. That's the theory, anyway."

"Hear that, Carter? We're chancing our lives on a theory," said Newkirk. "That's very reassuring." He caught Hogan's eye, and quickly added, "Sir."

Hogan let it pass. "You leave the car somewhere off the road, and come back in through the emergency tunnel. Tomorrow you pick up the car, drive it back into camp and return the violin. Any questions?"

Carter held up his hand. "Why couldn't Klink have learned to play the triangle instead?"

"Maybe God just hates music," muttered Kinch.

"It's one of the great mysteries of the war, Carter," said Hogan gravely. "Nothing else? Good. Now, go and get that violin."

* * *

"_Herr Kommandant_, two men are here asking to see you," announced Fräulein Hilda.

"Who...what...who?"

Kommandant Klink jerked upright, almost tipping his chair over in the process. He had been completely absorbed in an imaginary career, in which he played his Kreuz violin before the adoring audiences of five continents. It took him a full ten seconds to regain both his balance and his bearings.

"I'm not expecting anyone this afternoon," he snapped. "Who is it?"

"They didn't say, but..."

"Oh, they didn't say? Well, please tell them that Stalag 13 is not open to casual visitors. The nerve of some people, thinking they can just stroll in here for a sightseeing tour whenever they..."

"Kommandant Wilhelm Klink?" One of the callers, a nondescript man in a light fawn overcoat, had apparently lost patience. "My name is Spohr. Gestapo."

Klink didn't even pause for breath. "Welcome to Stalag 13, Herr Spohr, so nice of you to drop in. Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

The Gestapo man glanced at Hilda, his eyes narrowing, and she took the hint at once. "Excuse me, _Herr Kommandant_," she murmured.

Herr Spohr's companion, who wore the uniform of a junior SS officer, held the door open for her, then closed it and went to stand behind the chair which Spohr now occupied. Both of them gazed at Klink in silence.

"Uh...well...it's always a pleasure to...may I offer you some refreshment, gentlemen?" stammered Klink, with a beaming smile of pure terror.

"This is not a social call," barked Spohr. "We are here on official Gestapo business. Sit down, _Herr Kommandant_."

"Official Gestapo business. Of course, Herr Spohr. Anything I can do to help the Gestapo, anything at all. Just tell me what you need. My Stalag is your Stalag. In fact..."

Without mercy, Spohr cut him off. "We're not interested in your Stalag. We are here to ask about something more personal."

"More...personal." Klink went white, and beads of sweat were visible on his brow. The smile now looked as if it had been frozen in place. "I don't understand."

Spohr pressed his fingertips together. "In the last few days, certain information has come to our attention. Kommandant Klink, is it true that you have, within the last few days, taken possession of a new violin?"

Klink stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"A new violin, built by...who was it built by, Weber?"

The man in uniform snapped his heels together. "The brothers Kreuz, of Leidenbach, Herr Spohr."

"_Ja_. The brothers Kreuz. Well, Kommandant, is this information correct?"

"Well...that is to say...Who told you about it?"

"That is not important. What is important is that you have it." Spohr paused, then leaned forward. "We would like to see this instrument."

"But I don't understand," Klink broke out. "Is there something wrong with my new violin?"

"We will not know, until we have seen it," replied Spohr, with a tight, chilly smile. "And I suggest that you do not keep us waiting. We have a busy schedule today."

Klink rose slowly to his feet. "I'll just go and get it," he mumbled.

As soon as he had left the office, the so-called Spohr relaxed. "Gosh, I didn't think he'd fold that quick."

"Well, that's Klink for you, as firm as butter on a hot pavement," replied Weber. "Getting him to hand it over will be a piece of cake."

Spohr nodded, his eyebrows drawing together. "Boy, could I ever go for a piece of cake right now."

"Oh, for pity's sake, Carter..." Weber broke off abruptly, as the door to the Kommandant's quarters opened, and Klink sidled in, the crocodile-leather violin case cradled protectively against his chest.

"I still don't understand what you want with it," he mumbled, as he put it down on the desk and unfastened the clasps.

Spohr rose from his chair, and stooped over the case to peer at the violin. "Ah...yes...I see," he murmured. Then he straightened up. "Play something."

"W-what?"

"We need to hear what it sounds like. Play something," repeated Spohr, as he sat down again.

Klink boggled at him, then at Weber, who shrugged. "Best do as he says."

"If you insist, Herr Spohr." Klink wedged the violin under his chin. "Do you have any requests?"

"Yes," replied Spohr acidly. "Keep it short."

Something which sounded like a hiccough came from Weber, but his demeanour remained as imperturbably stern as ever. Klink hesitated, then gave a nervous titter. "You might like this little number. It's Beethoven, you know."

He started playing a bright, fast-flowing melody, which under more competent fingers would have danced like sunlight on running water. Weber's eyebrows went up, and Spohr's lips twitched as if he were trying not to smile.

"Very nice," he remarked, bringing Klink to a halt in mid-phrase. "I think we have found what we are looking for." He stood up, and stepped forward, causing Klink to retreat . "Kommandant, what I am about to tell you is top secret, and I must ask you not to breathe a word of it to anyone. Is that clear?"

Klink opened his mouth to reply; not a sound came out, so he made do with a jerky nod of his head. Spohr's aspect became a little less threatening. "Tell me, have you ever heard of the _Kammerorchester der Geheimen Staatspolizei_?" he asked.

"The Gestapo have a chamber orchestra?" Klink's mouth fell open.

"A highly secret one," replied Spohr. "Our existence can only be made known to those whose discretion can be assured, one way or another. Under normal circumstances, you would certainly never have been told. However, a situation has arisen which has obliged us to seek your assistance."

"W-what kind of situation?"

"Woodworm." Spohr gave a frosty little smirk. "This morning, the leader of the orchestra had the misfortune to discover that part of his violin had been eaten. Doubtless, this occurrence is part of an Underground plot to disrupt our planned concert this evening at Hammelburg."

"Are you playing in Hammelburg?" ventured Klink. "I haven't heard anything..."

"Of course you have not," growled Weber. "Since when did the Gestapo advertise its activities?"

"It is absolutely essential that the concert go ahead," Spohr went on. "For this reason, we require a replacement violin. Your violin, _Herr Kommandant_."

"My violin? But...but..." Klink took a step back, his eyes darting from one stern face to the other.

"He seems reluctant, Herr Spohr," said Weber. "Perhaps he does not understand the consequences of failing to obey a Gestapo directive."

A plaintive whine broke from Klink's lips. "I've only had it for two days."

"Which makes it all the more commendable that you should lend it to us," replied Spohr. "It will be returned to you tomorrow, once we have finished with it. Or would you prefer to have it recorded in your dossier that you refused to co-operate?"

Klink blanched, hesitated, then shook his head, and slowly replaced the violin in its case. "You will bring it back tomorrow?"

"You have my word on it." Spohr took the case from him. "Thank you, _Herr Kommandant_."

He turned to leave, but Klink spoke up again. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but this concert you are giving. Where exactly is it being held?"

He shrank back, at the double glare he received. "Why do you want to know?" asked Spohr.

"Well, I thought I might come along," faltered Klink. "I'm sure I'd enjoy the music, and I could collect my violin afterwards, and save you the trouble of bringing it back."

"A very plausible answer, _Herr Kommandant_. Unfortunately, the location of the concert is classified, and you do not have clearance," replied Spohr. "However, you will be able to read a review in the next issue of the _Gestapo Times_. If you can find a copy. Which you can't. Thank you again. _Heil Hitler._"

He marched out of the office with Weber at his heels. It took Klink a few seconds to get his wits back and follow, just in time to watch as the two men got into a waiting staff car. A minute later, his precious violin went out of the front gate, and headed out of sight, towards Hammelburg.

Schultz came trundling across the yard. "_Ist alles in Ordnung, Herr Kommandant_?" he asked. Receiving no answer, he tried again. "If you please, _Herr Kommandant_, is something the matter?"

"Yes, Schultz," replied Klink. His eyes were still fixed on the road; he seemed completely dazed. "I have no idea how it happened. But the Gestapo just commandeered my new violin."

* * *

_Notes_:

Andy Hardy: character played by the perpetually adolescent Mickey Rooney in a series of films commencing with _A Family Affair_ in 1937.

Kinch is a double bass player, seen in action in _Praise the Führer and Pass the Ammunition_ (Season 2). Klink's violin went missing at the end of _Movies Are Your Best Escape _(Season 1); Hogan returned it, but removed the strings first. The rumpus over that must have been monumental.

The piece Klink plays in this chapter is the first movement of Beethoven's Violin Sonata No. 5 in F major, Op. 24 ("Spring").


	5. Chapter 5

"You know, it seems a bit of a shame to take it apart," said Newkirk; and a faint, sweet echo came from the violin, as if in agreement.

"That's kind of spooky," remarked Carter, who was heating the blade an old kitchen knife over the spirit burner from his laboratory. "How come it keeps doing that?"

"Sympathetic resonance," explained Lieutenant Doyle, and the strings of the violin caught the tone of his voice, and once again vibrated in accord.

Hogan's entire team had crowded into the underground workshop, where the violin lay on the big table, waiting to give up its secrets. Doyle had joined them to add his expertise to the task at hand. Between his intellectual understanding, and the scientific curiosity which had inspired Kinch's adolescent investigations, Hogan was reasonably sure the violin could be reassembled to at least an outward appearance of its original form.

He was conscious, however, of a certain reluctance to carry out the necessary examination, and the instrument's responsiveness to every sound, amplified by the curved roof of the tunnel, only made it harder.

"Let's have a look, before we do anything drastic," he said. "If we can see whatever's in there, maybe we can get at it without taking the whole thing apart." He picked up the violin and held it up to the light. "Get me a flashlight, someone."

His men watched anxiously as he peered through one of the slender, curved apertures on the upper body of the instrument. "Well, there's something in there, all right," he said at last. "Can't make out what it is, but it's wedged between the top and bottom. Looks like a cylinder, or something rolled up tight."

Kinch and Doyle exchanged glances. "Or maybe a piece of wood, something like a dowel?" asked Kinch.

"Yeah, could be."

"Uh-huh. That's the sound post. It's meant to be there."

Hogan sighed, and put the violin back on the table. "I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Okay, who wants to do the job?"

The soft, plaintive voice of the violin answered him, dying away into a melancholy silence. Not one of the men met Hogan's eyes. He glanced at Newkirk, who was studying his fingernails, with a frown suggesting he wasn't best pleased with them; Kinch, who had apparently noticed something odd about one of the roof beams; LeBeau, staring off into the distance, as if his thoughts were fully engaged with composing his next letter to Yvette, or Sylvie, or maybe Suzanne; Carter, who had withdrawn the knife from the flame and was testing it against his fingertips. That left Doyle; and somehow, Hogan had a feeling Doyle wasn't very handy with tools.

"Fine. I'll do it," said Hogan.

He took hold of one of the tuning pegs, preparing to loosen the strings, but paused, as Doyle held out his hand. "If you wouldn't mind, Colonel, before you start...well, I can play a little, and it's unlikely I'll ever have another chance to try my hand on a Kreuz instrument. May I?"

Behind his customary self-possession, for once there lurked an almost boyish eagerness. Hogan grinned, and handed him the violin. "Go ahead, but make it quick."

Doyle wasn't going to be rushed, however; he took the time to tune up, making almost imperceptible adjustments until he was satisfied. Then he drew the bow lightly across the strings, testing his fingering for accuracy, and only when he was ready did he begin his impromptu performance, with _Greensleeves_. He played it simply and without any unnecessary adornment, allowing the Leidenbach violin to sing in its own way.

So sweet and haunting a sound had never before been heard above or below ground at Stalag 13; it stilled its listeners into a silence which lasted well beyond the final note.

Doyle allowed the echoes to fade, then struck up with almost the last thing anyone would have expected from him, the lively, infectious rhythm of _Haste to the Wedding_. Without any conscious effort, Hogan's foot started tapping; and within a couple of bars the whole audience was clapping in time.

Had they but known it, directly overhead Schultz had stopped in his tracks, halfway to the sergeants' mess.

"Do you hear something?" he asked Langenscheidt, who was on patrol.

"No, sergeant," said Langenscheidt. "What sort of something should I be hearing?"

"I'm not sure," replied Schultz, "but whatever it is, I like it."

The jig came to an end, and Doyle lowered the bow, but the fingers of his left hand seemed reluctant to let go.

"How about one more, Lieutenant?" said Hogan. After a moment of thought, Doyle smiled, and without speaking, began to play; and once more the voice of the Leidenbach instrument echoed through the tunnels, singing its last song.

"_I vow to thee, my country_. Nice choice," remarked Hogan.

"It seemed appropriate, for her final performance," replied Doyle, as he laid the violin back on the table.

A brief silence ensued; then Hogan squared his shoulders. "Okay, let's get down to business."

While his men watched solemnly, he removed the strings, the bridge and the chin rest, leaving just the bare body. "Okay, what now?" he asked. "The top's glued on, right?"

"Right," said Kinch. "They use hide glue, which is brittle. So once you manage to force a gap between the top plate and the side, you should be able to work your way around with the knife and just break it away."

"Any ideas on how I make that first gap?" murmured Hogan, lifting the violin to eye level and studying the join with narrowed eyes. "Or is it supposed to already be there? Because there seems to be an opening, about a half inch, right in the corner where the neck joins on."

Kinch peered over his shoulder. "I guess the Kreuz brothers knew all along we'd have to get inside, so they made it easy for us."

"Maybe, but I still feel like a murderer," said Hogan, setting the violin down. "Well, there's no point in putting it off. Pass me the knife."

Carter held it out. "It's pretty hot, Colonel."

"Don't try to pry the join apart," said Kinch. "The wood might crack if you put any pressure on it, and that kind of damage will be hard to cover up."

"Thanks for the encouragement," growled Hogan, as he slid the end of the knife into the tiny gap, and started the delicate process of breaking the seal. "LeBeau, how about some coffee? I think I'm going to need it. Unless this goes wrong, in which case I'll probably want something a lot stronger."

"We've still got some of the apple brandy we made last Christmas, _mon Colonel_," suggested LeBeau, pausing in the entrance.

Hogan uttered a short laugh. "I said something stronger, not lethal." LeBeau snickered, and scampered off. The others remained, watching the slow, methodical progress of the knife around the curves of the instrument. Presently LeBeau came back, placed the coffee pot on a tripod over the spirit burner, and joined the rest of the spectators.

It seemed like hours, but was probably not more than twenty minutes, before Hogan straightened up, and put the knife down. "Okay I think that's got it," he said. "Now, let's see what all the fuss is about."

He lifted away the upper body and laid it aside. For a few seconds he and his men stared into the exposed interior. Newkirk was the first to state the obvious: "The bloody thing's empty."

"They gotta be kidding," said Kinch.

"Boy, what a gyp," added Carter. "We could have gotten ourselves shot, for nothing."

"Okay, pipe down." Hogan's voice cut through the mounting protests. "Just because we haven't found it, doesn't mean it isn't here somewhere. Maybe it's inside the neck."

"I believe that's highly unlikely, sir," observed Doyle. "The structural integrity would be badly compromised, which would probably cause it to snap under the tension of the strings."

"Well, I'm out of other ideas," said Hogan. He leaned on the table, his eyes fixed on the empty shell. "Okay, let's go back to the start, and think it through."

"How about a cuppa, Colonel?" suggested Newkirk. "Might stimulate the old brain cells a bit."

"That's a good idea." LeBeau went to fetch the coffee pot. "Carter, go and get some extra mugs. I only brought two."

Carter, who was leaning on the table, straightened up sharply. His sleeve caught on the top plate of the violin, sending it skidding across the table, and it was more by instinct than intent that Newkirk fielded it before it flew off the edge.

"Watch it, Carter, you nearly..." he began, then trailed off. For a few seconds, he stared at the inner surface, then without a word he held it up for everyone to see the tiny, precise writing which covered it.

"Nice work, Newkirk," said Hogan. "I think you just found what we're looking for."

* * *

Notes:

_Greensleeves_: English traditional, sometimes attributed to Henry VIII.

_Haste to the Wedding_: Irish/Gaelic jig, composer unknown

_I vow to thee, my country_: words by Cecil Spring-Rice, music by Gustav Holst, adapted from a theme used in his orchestral suite _The Planets_; also known as _Thaxted_.


	6. Chapter 6

The general air of melancholy had evaporated. While Hogan, with the aid of a magnifying glass, examined the minutely inscribed lettering on the inside of the violin top plate, his men suppressed their impatience, some more successfully than others. Even Doyle wasn't immune to the general mood of anticipation.

It was LeBeau who broke first: "_Alors, Colonel_? What is it?"

Hogan lowered the glass. "Our friends in Leidenbach have gotten hold of the location of a testing range outside Diebniz, where the Germans are working on a new guidance system for their rocket program. They've also given us details of the defences - anti-aircraft, electrified fences, SS troops. It's gonna be a tough target for someone."

"As long as that someone isn't us," said Kinch. "It isn't, is it?"

"Not this time," replied Hogan. "Diebniz isn't in our area. So we pass the information on to London, they'll figure out how to shut the place down. Is the radio working yet?"

"No, but I've worked out what the problem is, and it turns out we've got some old parts that'll fix it, at least temporarily. Give me a couple of hours tonight, and we'll be back on the air."

"Good. As soon as you get it going, get this stuff off to headquarters. Once that's done..." Hogan paused, frowning, then sighed. "Carter, you did a woodworking class once. Can you put the violin back together so it looks the same as it did before?"

"I think so, Colonel," said Carter. "But it sure won't sound the same."

"Doesn't matter. It's never going to be played again." Hogan folded his arms, and began pacing. After half a minute, he stopped. "This is how I see it. Klink thinks the Gestapo have his violin. If we give it back, then the first time he plays it he'll notice there's something wrong. He takes it to a repairer, they take it apart, find what's inside, and the Kreuz brothers are finished."

"So we don't give it back," said Newkirk. "He's hardly going to complain about the Gestapo pinching his fiddle, is he?"

"Just like he didn't complain about them grabbing his staff car in Paris?" Hogan shot back. "He's just dumb enough to start making enquiries at Gestapo HQ about their orchestra, and some bright _Kriminalkommissar_ with a bit of time on his hands might just get curious about it. No, the violin has to go back. Which brings us right back to where we started."

"Bit of a predicament, isn't it?" observed Newkirk.

"Not if we play it right. There's a way we can return the violin, but make sure Klink doesn't keep it," said Hogan. "And being Klink, I can guarantee he won't say a word about it to anyone. But it doesn't come without a cost."

One by one, those present followed his gaze until every eye was on the remains of the Leidenbach instrument. "You mean the violin," said Kinch.

"For everyone's safety - ours, as well as the Kreuz brothers - it has to be destroyed, completely and with no room for doubt," replied Hogan. "Don't all look at me like that. I don't like it any more than you do, but there's no room for sentiment in our line of work. It's not up for discussion." He cut through the nascent protests without mercy.

A brief silence followed. Newkirk seemed about to speak, but thought better of it, while Carter and LeBeau continued to look reproachful. But Doyle caressed the fingerboard with a gentle, loving hand. "She's done her job," he said softly. "So I suppose she's of no further use. Colonel, you must do whatever you think is best."

"Oh, for the love of...All right. We'll save the violin," growled Hogan. "Thanks, Doyle. You just made my job a heck of a lot harder."

* * *

"Morning, Kommandant. How's it going?"

Colonel Klink looked up from the requisition forms which lay scattered over his desk. "It would be going a lot better if I wasn't constantly being interrupted," he grumbled. "Did I send for you, Hogan?"

"No, sir, I don't think so," replied Hogan, after a moment of thought.

"Then why are you here?"

"Well, golly, Kommandant, does there have to be a reason?"

"With you, Hogan, there's always a reason," snapped Klink. "What do you want?"

Hogan immediately adopted the slightly hurt expression of a well-meaning puppy whose overtures of friendship have been comprehensively rejected. "Gee, that's not very nice, Kommandant. I mean, just because we're enemies doesn't mean we can't be courteous, right? Anyway, as it happens, there is something I wanted to ask you. Did you make a decision yet?"

"A decision? What decision?"

"About the violin recital," said Hogan. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already."

Klink waved his hands. "Of course I haven't forgotten, but now is not a good time, Hogan. I have all this paperwork to clear up. And my violin is...well...it's not precisely here at the moment." He finished off with a rapid mumble.

But Hogan wasn't easily put off. "Sorry, sir, I didn't quite catch that. What did you say?"

"I said, my violin isn't here," repeated Klink, a tremble of vexation in his tone.

"You mean, you sent it back already? What was wrong with it? Boy, I hope you kept the receipt," said Hogan. "Say, what kind of warranty do you get with a violin? One year or five hundred cadenzas, whichever comes first?"

Klink gave an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. "There's nothing wrong with it. I just lent it to someone."

"Well, they're gonna bring it back, right?" Hogan chuckled. "I mean, it's not like the Gestapo requisitioned it, or something. That'd be just ridiculous."

"Yes. Ridiculous," echoed the Kommandant.

Through the window behind Klink's desk, Hogan could see the main gate, and the black staff car which had just arrived. A couple more minutes, and this operation would really get going.

As the car cleared the gate, Kinch, who was loitering outside the barracks, poked his head round the door. "Hurry up, LeBeau," he hissed. "The Gestapo are already here."

"I'm coming," replied LeBeau, and a few seconds later he emerged, clutching his jacket tightly around him in spite of the warmth of the sunshine.

"Got it?" asked Kinch.

LeBeau nodded. "And I'd be a lot happier if I was impersonating the Gestapo instead of planting the grenade. What happens if it goes off before we're ready?"

"Well, it won't be your problem afterwards. Or mine," replied Kinch with a grin.

They watched with apparent indifference as the car drew up outside the Kommandantur, and the two occupants descended, one of them bearing a familiar-looking violin case. They exchanged a brief word with Schultz, then went on into the office.

Kinch chuckled. "One of these days Schultz is going to be wearing his glasses on duty, and then Carter's in real trouble. Okay, let's go."

With LeBeau at his heels, he crossed the yard, heading straight for the well which stood a little distance from the office building. As the guards looked on in bemusement, the two prisoners stood looking at the plain wooden structure.

"You know, Louis, the colonel was right," said Kinch at last. "It does look kind of shabby."

LeBeau shrugged. "I still don't understand why we should have to paint it. If the _Boche_ hadn't been too miserly to pay for the right sort of paint in the first place, it wouldn't have started falling off the first time it got rained on."

"Well, to be fair, it was a pretty harsh winter," replied Kinch. "They don't usually have so much snow round these parts. Anyway, it's not like we'll be doing it for nothing. Colonel Hogan will work out a deal with Klink, once we figure the amount of paint we need. Where's the tape measure?"

"What's going on?" Schultz had come toddling over to investigate, not so much from suspicion as from the finely honed instinct which warned him that whatever the prisoners got up to, he would most probably get the blame.

"Oh, hi, Schultz," said Kinch. "Colonel Hogan told us to measure up the well, so we can put in a quote for repainting it."

"Nobody told me anything about it," growled Schultz.

"Why should they? You weren't planning on making a bid for the job, were you?" asked Kinch reasonably.

"No, I suppose not. All right, go ahead."

"Thanks, Schultz, you're a pal. Okay, LeBeau, you do the measurements, and I'll write them down." Kinch produced a notebook and pencil. "Get the inside measurements first."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Schultz. "You're not going to paint inside the well?"

"If we're going to do the job, Schultz, we're going to do it right." Kinch gave him a reproving look, as if he'd just remembered they were on opposite sides.

As always, Schultz immediately adopted a policy of appeasement, and while he was apologising for whatever slight he had inadvertently perpetrated, he failed to notice LeBeau hastily lowering something into the well; a length of cord, the end wrapped securely around a hand grenade. A second piece of string had to be managed with care; it was attached to the firing pin. LeBeau held his breath until the destructive little package reached the bottom of the shaft. But he didn't relax even then. The dangerous part of this operation was still to come.

* * *

Klink nearly jumped out of his skin when the two Gestapo men burst unannounced into his office. "Herr Spohr. What...why...what a pleasant surprise!"

"Why should you be surprised?" Spohr snapped back. "Did I not give you my word I would return your violin today? Don't you trust the word of an officer of the Gestapo?"

"Of course, of course. I didn't mean to imply...it's just...I mean, I didn't expect to see you so early in the day, after your late night," blathered Klink.

Spohr's eyes narrowed. "Who told you I had a late night?"

"Well, I just assumed, because of the..." Klink glanced at Hogan, then lowered his voice. "You know, the concert."

"Concert?" Spohr looked vaguely puzzled, then made a recover. "Oh, yes, of course." His gaze fell on Hogan, standing innocuously to one side. "Who is this man?"

"This is Colonel Hogan, the senior officer of the prisoners of war," replied Klink. "Hogan, you're dismissed."

"But, Kommandant, about the recital..."

"Not now, Hogan. We'll talk about it later," said Klink through gritted teeth.

"Please, _Herr Kommandant_, don't allow us to interrupt your daily routine." Spohr held up a hand. "We only came to return your instrument, and to thank you for your co-operation in this matter. Weber, the violin."

His aide stepped forward and carefully laid the crocodile-skin violin case on the desk.

Klink beamed at sight of it. "Oh, believe me, Herr Spohr, it was my pleasure. I've always considered the Gestapo a very..."

Spohr cut him off. "Indeed. Now, if you don't mind, we must be on our way."

"You wouldn't care to take a little refreshment before you leave? I would love to hear about the..."

"No, we have a pressing engagement elsewhere," interrupted Spohr, with a thin-lipped smile, and a sideways glance at the violin. "Thank you again. _Heil Hitler_."

Before Klink could say another word, he saluted and swept out, with Weber at his heels.

"Well, that was odd," said Klink, after a brief, perplexed silence. "But I have my violin back, so..."

"Yeah. You're right," Hogan broke in. "It was odd. Very odd. What were the Gestapo doing with your fiddle anyway?"

"That's none of your business, Hogan. It's a Gestapo matter." Klink was already undoing the clasps of the violin case; but as he went to lift the lid, Hogan slapped it back down again.

"Well, I don't know, Kommandant," he said. "It's kind of funny, when you think about it. I mean, there I was making a joke about them having it, and it turned out they really did. Doesn't that strike you as suspicious?"

"No more than anything else the Gestapo does," replied Klink, pushing Hogan's hand aside. "You Americans don't understand these things."

Hogan pushed the lid of the case back down again. "Yeah, but all the same..."

"Hogan, will you please let me open this case and check on my violin?" snapped Klink.

"What? Oh, sorry, Kommandant." Hogan lifted his hand away. "I didn't mean to...Wait a minute. Do you hear something?"

"No, I don't hear anything," replied Klink impatiently. "What am I supposed to hear?"

"Kind of a ticking noise," said Hogan, wrinkling his brow in concentration. "It seems to be coming from...from the violin case."

For a few seconds the two men stared at the case in growing consternation. Then Hogan snapped his fingers. "A bomb! They've booby-trapped your violin!"

He snatched up the case and raced out of the office with it. "Clear the way," he shouted. "Coming through!"

Holding the case at arm's length, he ran towards the well. "Get back!" he yelled at LeBeau, who was still pottering round with the tape measure. LeBeau jumped back, tugging the string attached to the firing pin of the grenade. Two seconds later, Hogan dropped the violin case into the well, and scrambled to get around the corner of the building, dragging LeBeau with him, while Kinch grabbed Schultz, hauled him to a safe distance, and hit the dirt.

A lengthy pause ensued, but no explosion.

"You sure you pulled the pin?" Hogan whispered fiercely.

"Quite sure," LeBeau hissed back. "Maybe it was a dud."

From the veranda of the Kommandantur came a wail of dismay: "My violin! Hogan, what have you done?"

Hogan cast up his eyes. This was going to take some explaining. But just as he was trying to summon the courage to face the bereaved Kommandant, there came a sudden roar of noise from the depths of the well, followed by a vertical jet of water which, deflected by the roof, splashed outwards in all directions. Hogan ducked back, covering his head against the pelting of the unnatural shower, which seemed to go on for way too long; then, as a stunned silence fell across the yard, he slowly unfolded himself.

Klink stood petrified on the steps of the office, dripping wet, his mouth open. Hogan came to join him. For almost a minute the two of them stared at the well in silence. Finally Hogan sighed.

"Well, Kommandant," he said, "it looks like we'll have to postpone the recital."

* * *

Note: in _A Tiger Hunt in Paris _(Season 2), Klink's staff car was "commandeered by the Gestapo" (i.e. stolen by Hogan and LeBeau.) He did, in fact, ring the Gestapo office to inquire about it.


	7. Chapter 7

"I still don't understand why the Gestapo would do such a thing. I've always been completely loyal. Why should they try to kill me?" complained Klink, cowering next to the window and peering out past the edge of the curtain, which he'd drawn tightly as soon as he reached the safety of his office.

"Maybe they just need the practice," said Hogan, as he took advantage of the Kommandant's preoccupation to pour himself a glass of brandy. "I mean, assassination's a tricky business. They want to be sure they get it right, when it's someone who matters, so why not just knock off the occasional prison camp Kommandant, just to keep their hand in?"

"Hogan, that's insane!" But Klink didn't sound too sure about it.

"Well, we are talking about the Gestapo," replied Hogan. "Or maybe it's just about setting an example. One of you gets blown to bits, the others are all going to make sure they toe the line, right? Seems like a pretty efficient management strategy, if you ask me."

"You're not helping," muttered the Kommandant.

"Okay, look at it this way." Hogan refilled his glass. "If the Gestapo wanted you dead, then you'd be dead. Now, obviously, you're not dead, are you? So therefore they must have had some other reason for blowing up your violin."

Klink threw up his hands. "What reason? There is no reason." He sank onto his office chair, and reached for the telephone. "Perhaps if I ring Gestapo headquarters, and ask them..."

"Sure, that'd work," chuckled Hogan. "Because there's nothing those guys love more than being questioned about one of their operations. They might just decide they do want to kill you, after all."

"You're right. Better not give them any ideas," replied Klink, drawing his hand away from the receiver. "What do you think I should do?"

Hogan pursed his lips as he contemplated the problem, then shrugged. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"That's right." Hogan finished his brandy, and put the glass down. "If they're not trying to kill you, then you don't need to do anything. And if they are, then you _can't _do anything. So you might as well do nothing."

"Thank you, Hogan, that makes me feel a lot better," said Klink, slumping in his chair. "Dismissed."

Hogan started towards the door. "Oh, by the way, sir, seeing as you don't have your violin any more, is there anything else you can do for the recital? Assuming the Gestapo don't get to you first, that is..."

"Hogan, get out!" shrieked the Kommandant.

A little knot of guards had formed around the well, not too close. As Hogan descended the steps of the Kommandantur, Schultz broke away from them and came to intercept him. "Colonel Hogan, is it true that the Gestapo put a bomb in the Kommandant's violin?"

"That's what it looks like, Schultz," said Hogan. "But don't worry, I'm sure he'll get another one before long."

Schultz uttered a grunt. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Hogan laughed under his breath, and proceeded to the barracks. "Okay, he bought it," he said. "LeBeau, watch the door."

His men greeted the announcement with relief. "I've got to hand it to you, Colonel," said Newkirk. "You play the Kommandant like - well, I was going to say like a fiddle, but not the way he plays the fiddle."

"Of course not. That would just be insulting," remarked LeBeau. "So what happens now?"

Hogan put one foot on the end of the bench. "Now we take the violin, and put it somewhere safe until after the war."

"Any ideas, Colonel?" said Kinch. "I mean, we can't exactly store it down in the tunnel."

"Why not?" asked Newkirk. "Safest place for it, if you ask me."

Kinch shook his head. "You know what happens to an instrument like that if it's kept in a damp place? One spring thaw, and it's done for."

"It's done for anyway, as far as being a violin is concerned. It's in a dozen pieces."

"I suppose there is no reason it can't be put back together," said LeBeau. "If we gave it back to the Kreuz brothers at the end of the war, maybe they could fix it."

"But until then it has to be kept out of the hands of the Krauts," Hogan finished up. "And there's just one place in the whole of Stalag 13 where it'll be safe...Well, Carter?"

"No problem," replied Carter, clambering out of the tunnel entrance, still in his Gestapo outfit. "Plenty of room, and it's as dry as anything down there. But gee, Colonel, it sure seems a funny place to keep a violin."

"Wait a minute. We're not going to store it in there?" said Kinch, his eyes widening as he made the connection.

"Unless you can think of a better place. It's secure, it's dry, and if we have to get rid of it in a hurry, it'll be easy. Right, Carter?"

"You betcha, boy - I mean, sir," replied Carter. "I got enough stuff in there to blast that violin clear to the moon." His eyes gleamed, slightly boyish, slightly manic.

"Well, that'll be a nice little surprise for the first man to land up there," remarked Newkirk airily. "He can use it to play _God Save The King_ after he plants the Union Jack."

"An Englishman?" LeBeau gave a snort of derision. "That man will be playing _La Marseillaise_."

"Dream on, LeBeau. How's a Frenchman going to get to the moon? Last time I checked, there was no such thing as a flying croissant."

"Okay, fellas, that'll do," interrupted Hogan. "Whoever the first man on the moon is, it'll be years before he arrives. And you never know, it might be an American."

The two combatants instantly dissolved into laughter. "As if that's going to happen," chuckled Newkirk.

"I know. Look how late they were joining in the war," added LeBeau. "_Bonjour, lieutenant_." He opened the door, allowing Lieutenant Doyle to enter the barracks.

"What's up, Doyle?" said Hogan.

"Nothing, sir," replied Doyle. "That is to say, I'm a little curious about whether you were able to sort things out with Klink. I mean, with the explosion, and the violin, and everything."

"It's under control. At least, as much as anything ever is round here."

"Yes, of course," murmured Doyle. But he seemed troubled.

Hogan grinned. "Carter, you're starting to look way too comfortable in that Gestapo get-up. Go change into your uniform. Have a seat, Doyle, and tell me what's on your mind."

Doyle gave a sigh. "It's about the violin, sir."

"You want to make sure it's safe."

"I've been giving the matter a lot of thought since yesterday. You were right, Colonel. She should have been destroyed, and if I hadn't been such a sentimental ass..."

"It wasn't just you, Lieutenant," Kinch put in. "None of us wanted to see her blown up."

"Beside the point, old man. The thing is, it might be kinder in the long run," said Doyle. "Even if we could find a hiding place for her, somewhere the Jerries would never find her, the conditions are unlikely to be favourable. What would be the point of saving her, just to have her crumble into dust?"

"What kind of conditions does she need?" asked Newkirk, with a tilt of his head and a look of innocent enquiry in his eyes.

"My dear fellow, she's made of wood," replied Doyle. "She needs to be kept in a dry environment with a consistent temperature, neither too warm nor too cold, and not subject to vermin infestation. Somewhere like..."

He trailed off, frowning. After a few seconds, Hogan finished the sentence for him. "Somewhere like the munitions store-room."

"The munitions store-room?"

"Where we keep the dynamite. And the detonators, a little bit of nitro...you know, the usual stuff. The kind of stuff that you don't want getting damp."

"Or overheated," added Carter. "Some of that stuff can get really unstable, and then _kerblooey_!" He finished off with a series of explosive noises, accompanied by hand gestures to clarify his meaning.

"That's the technical term," explained Newkirk. "Us amateurs just call it a bloody enormous bang."

"Colonel, do I understand you correctly?" Doyle straightened up, staring from Carter to Hogan, and back again. "You're going to keep the Kreuz violin safe by..."

"By storing it in the most dangerous place in the whole of Stalag 13. Which, as it happens, is also the safest. Of course, it's not ideal, but..."

"But it's perfect," Doyle concluded, "Or as near as possible under the circumstances. Well, I must say, that sets my mind at rest. I should have known you would come up with a plan."

"Yeah, well, it's not one of my best," said Hogan, frowning slightly. "And you realise, if there's ever any chance of the Krauts finding our little stash of explosives, the orders are to detonate the lot before we evacuate the camp. So the violin could still go up in flames."

"It'd be a much bigger send-off, though," Carter pointed out. "Better than being thrown down the well. Boy, when she goes, they'll know about it all the way to Berlin." His pupils dilated a little, before he sensed the lack of enthusiasm around him. "Not that I want it to happen, of course," he finished up.

Hogan gave a soft chuckle. "Then let's hope it never comes to that."

A contemplative silence fell across the barracks. Even outside, in the aftermath of the morning's events, the compound lay in unusual stillness.

"Isn't it quiet?" said LeBeau.

"Well, that won't last," replied Kinch. "Sooner or later, Klink's going to get himself another violin."

Carter snickered. "When he does, I got plenty of nitro on hand. All it takes is a couple of drops on the bow, and the first time he tries an _appoggiatura_..."

"You know what?" said Hogan. "Let's just wait and see. He might get another one from Leidenbach. And if he does..." His eyes gleamed, and he met an answering twinkle from Doyle.

"If he does," he finished up, "we might just let him keep it."


End file.
